Dealing
by QueenOfTheAubergines
Summary: Dean deals with things his own way. He doesn't expect Sam to find out. Warning: self harm
1. Chapter 1

Some days, Dean just had to get in the Impala, crank up AC/DC as loud as he could, and drive. He didn't care where, he just drove all day, on his own, singing out of tune, ignoring the aching in the back of his mind. He never listened to Highway to Hell any more, not after he'd taken it himself, but Back In Black had memories for him, happy memories, of Sammy and Dad on their way back from the a hunt when he was seventeen and Dad was pleased with him for once because he'd saved Sammy from the first Wendigo he'd ever encountered. Things were so simple back then- yes sir, no sir, keep Sammy safe. Sometimes he wished...

But no. He couldn't think like that, not if he wanted to stay on top of it all. He forced himself to concentrate on the road, let the lyrics drown out everything in his head and drum his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the thudding bass line. Nothing mattered now, except him and the Impala and the music.

"Dean?" Sam looked up from his research as Dean shut the door to their motel room and collapsed on the bed. "I got some possible leads on that demon Bobby mentioned."

"Cool," Dean couldn't think of anything more to say, he just shut his eyes, watching the spots of light dance on his eyelids, mocking him. He could hear it ringing in his ears- the sounds of the souls he'd destroyed in hell, screaming in agony, and then his father's voice, disappointed. It was getting louder, pounding in his head, louder and louder and louder...

"Dean! Dean, are you even listening?" he opened his eyes to see Sam standing at the foot of his bed, frustration clear in his face.

Dean didn't reply. He stood up, as calmly as he could manage, and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He took his pocket knife from his pocket, took off his jacket and sat in the bath- no point making more mess than he needed to. Breathing out, for the first time, he felt, since he'd got back, he put the razor to his left arm, pressed it down gently, and pulled back. He felt nothing for a good few moments, but then the sharp pain shot up his arm, and he sat totally still, letting it build up, then fade to a dull ache. When the pain subsided, he did it again, deeper this time, and then again, and again, until he couldn't stop, and his arm was completely numb. He shut his eyes, and rested his head on the back of the bath behind him, glad of the silence.

"DEAN!"

A sharp banging on the bathroom door forced Dean awake. For a moment he didn't know where he was- his arm was stinging, there was blood covering the bath and his head was aching like a bitch.

"Dean, seriously, you've been in there hours, what's going on?"

"I must have fallen asleep in the shower, give me a minute," Dean got up, grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, ignoring the course fabric irritating his cuts. He turned on the shower, washing away all the blood in the bath, then stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked a mess- dark rings under his eyes, hair greasy, and his lips chapped and sore.

"Dean?" Sam sounded tired, and more than a little concerned, "Are you ok in there?"

Dean sighed, and opened the door. "I'm fine, Sammy. I just fell asleep, that's all."

"Dean, you're bleeding," Sam says, putting down his laptop for the first time all day.

"Huh? Where?" Dean asks, panicking already. He hopes to God it's not...

"Your arm, through your jacket." _Shit_. "Let me see, hold on."

"Oh, no no no, it's fine..." Dean pulls his arm away and stands up, backing away from Sam liked a caged animal.

"Man, it's bleeding pretty bad, let me have a look," Sam grabs his arm and pulls up the sleeve, exposing a criss-cross pattern of scars and cuts, red and raw against his brother's skin.

"Go away," Dean yanks his arm out of Sam's grip and starts to make his way to the door, but Sam runs in front. "Damnit, Sam, let me go. I don't want to talk about this."

"Please, Dean..."

"Sam, just at least let me have some time first," Dean sighs, and Sam steps away from the door. Dean leaves without saying another word.

* * *

Sometimes, Dean just had to get away from it all, and the best way to do that is in the Impala, with Guns N' Roses blaring and no one around to ask questions. He tapped his foot, and sang along as loud as he could- "Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty...!"

He knew what Sam needed- even he didn't want it, Sam needed to know what was going on, at least to feel like he was being useful. He'd suffer the questions to give his brother some peace of mind.

* * *

"Alright, Sam, you can ask whatever you need to now." Dean sat on the edge of the motel bed, hoping his brother couldn't tell that he'd been drinking, and Sam sat next to him.

"How long?" Dean could feel his brother's eyes on his face, watching him for any sign he could be breaking. He settled into the state of mind he used for hunting- cold, hard, get the job done. He'd answer enough to calm his brother, but no more.

"Three years. On and off."

Sam was silent for a minute, just staring at his hands. Finally, he looked at Dean.

"Why? And why didn't you come to me?"

That was the question Dean had been dreading, though he knew it was coming.

"I can hear them."

"Who?"

"Dad. Jo. Ellen... all the people I've killed." Sam was clearly about to say something, to contradict him, but he talked over him, "In my sleep, I hear Lucifer's voice... I can feel the torture... Hell sucked, you know?"

"You could have told me," Sam sighed.

"No. I couldn't. I can't... I have to look after you, not the other way round. And anyway- I'm fine. I can deal with a couple of nightmares."

"They're clearly not just nightmares, Dean..."

"Flashbacks, whatever. I can deal. It's not like... Besides, I deserve it," Dean muttered, "I killed them. It's my fault."

"No it's-"

"I can hear them screaming, Sam! I can hear the voices of the kids I failed to save, I can hear Lucifer taunting me in the pit, I can hear Dad telling me that I failed you." Once he'd started talking, Dean wasn't sure he could stop, even though everything in him was telling him to shut up... perhaps it was the alcohol.

"Dean, it's ok," Sam put his arm over Dean's shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, and sighed. "I know how you feel, ok? The guilt, the...aching…" Sam stopped as Dean pulled away, swearing.

"Dean?"

"Fuck off, Sammy." Dean walked out and slammed the door, leaving Sam sitting on the bed, staring at the space he'd left.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dude, please, no more AC/DC! If I have to listen to Highway To Hell one more time, I swear I'm getting out of this car and…" Sam stopped at the look on Dean's face. His brother's normally shining green eyes were darker somehow, and dull, and although his lips were turned up in a small smile, it wasn't even close to the trademark smirk Dean usually wore. The smile widened for a second as Dean silently turned off his music, but it was clearly forced.

"Sorry mate, I know you love it but it's really not my thing," Sam felt guilty, though he wasn't sure why- he felt as though he'd overstepped a boundary.

"It's cool. I was going to turn it off anyway," Dean sounded tired, really tired, and it occurred to Sam that if he hadn't got much sleep, he might have been…he didn't want to think about it, but he knew he had to be sure, he had to know his brother was ok.

"Hey, it's really hot in here. How are you still wearing that jacket?"

"I'm fine."

"Dean…if it's about hiding the scars, I already know, right? I've seen your arms, and I mean I won't be shocked or anything…" he needed to know if Dean was hiding anything from him. As far as he knew, Dean hadn't hurt himself since the time he'd found out, a week ago, but he didn't know for sure.

"No, I'm fine. Just open the window." Sam rolled down the window of the Impala, just to avoid Dean knowing what he was trying to do. He couldn't push the matter, or Dean would realise and close up even more.

* * *

Dean went straight the bathroom of the grotty motel they'd arrived at, and sat on the side of the bath, head in hands. His head was pounding, his legs so weak he could barely stand. He pulled the razor from his pocket…

"Dean?"

"I'm in the bathroom Sam, I'll be out in a minute," his brother's voice sounded strained, and Sam immediately felt worry churning in his stomach.

"OK, be quick, will you?" Sam tried to keep his voice calm. He got no reply. He went outside to the Impala, and got a first aid kit from the trunk, putting it in his jacket pocket just in case. Then he returned to their dingy room in the motel.

* * *

_Get a grip_, Dean told himself, forcing himself to stop shaking.

_You know it was your fault, _his father's voice, in his head, again, _I died to save you. I died because you need to protect Sammy. But you can't even do that! _

Jess's voice over the top of his dad's, _You couldn't keep Sam safe from the pain. When I died it broke him and you couldn't stop it. He's different, you know he is._

And Sam's voice, _I trusted you, Dean, I looked up to you, and you let me down. Again._

All the voices, getting louder and louder and suffocating him and he can't make them shut up and… he dragged the razor across his arm, the pain a sharp shock that cut through the noise. He pulled off his shirt and cut further up, where he hoped Sam wouldn't see, more and more angry red slashes.

He deserved it, he deserved everything he got. He deserved this pain, and more, he could never make himself feel all the pain he'd inflicted on others, in hell and on earth…the screams, he could still hear the screams, wailing in agony all because of him…

* * *

"DEAN!" the razor was slapped from his hand mid-cut, and suddenly Sam was shaking him, holding his arms down, panic in his eyes.

"Dean, can you hear me?" he looked around, at the blood pooling on the floor around him, at the door kicked down, at the watch on Sam's wrist telling him he'd been in the bathroom for an hour, then back at his brother's face. He closed his eyes against the bright bathroom lights, letting his head fall back onto Sam's leg as he kneeled on the bathroom floor.


End file.
